


We’ll never survive! /  Nonsense. You’re only saying that because no one ever has.

by Sherbet_steve



Series: Love is many things none of them are logical [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, The Princess Bride - Simon Morgenstern, The Princess Bride - William Goldman
Genre: Alpha Crowley (Good Omens), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), How Do I Tag, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), I Tried, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Omega Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pretty Aziraphale, Self-Conscious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2020-10-13 18:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20587298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherbet_steve/pseuds/Sherbet_steve
Summary: Retelling of Princess Bride (the book) with our favorite angel and demon. Made gay and a/b/o





	1. Just because you are beautiful and perfect it has made you conceited

**Author's Note:**

> Hello this is a princess bride innefable husband story. I hope you like it please leave your thoughts and stuff as well as kudos etc. If you liked it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction

There had been many beautiful and perfect omegas in the world before Aziraphale. Women and men with plenty of suitors happy with life and themselves. Aziraphale, at fifteen, knew none of this. And if he had, would have found it totally unfathomable. 

How could someone care if he were the most beautiful Omega in the world or not. His presentation meant very little to him. What difference would it have made if you were only the third most beautiful, or the sixth? (Aziraphale at this time was nowhere near that high, being barely in the top twenty. That and primarily on potential, certainly not on any particular care he took of himself. He hated to wash his face, he was sick of combing his hair and did so as little as possible, causing the curls to grow wild and frame his face rather than lay smooth and proper.) 

What he liked to do, preferred above all else really, was to ride his horse and taunt the farm boy.

The horse's name was "Horse" (Aziraphale was never long on imagination) and it came  
when he called it, went where he steered it, did what he told it.

The farm boy did what he told him too. Actually, he was more a young man now, a young alpha growing into his own. But he had been a farm boy when orphaned. He had come to work for his father, and Aziraphale referred to him that way still.

"Farm Boy, fetch me this," he would demand.

"Get me that, Farm Boy—quickly, lazy thing, trot now or I'll tell Father." 

"As you wish."

That was all he ever answered. 

"As you wish."

"Fetch that, Farm Boy."

"As you wish."

" Dry this, Farm Boy."

"As you wish."

He lived in a hovel near the animals and, according to Aziraphales mother, he kept it clean. He even read when he had candles, and kept plants during the spring.

"I'll leave the lad an acre in my will," Aziraphales father was fond of saying. (They had acres then.)

"You'll spoil him," Aziraphale's mother always answered.

"He's slaved for many years; hard work should be rewarded."

Shortly before his sixteenth birthday, Aziraphale realized that it had now been more than a month since any girl or boy in the village had spoken to him. He had never been close to them, so the change was nothing sharp. At least before there were head nods exchanged when he rode through the village or along the cart tracks. But now, there was nothing. A quick glance away as he approached, that was all. 

Aziraphale cornered Anael one morning at the blacksmith's and asked about the silence. "I should think, after what you've done, you'd have the courtesy not to pretend to ask" came from Anael.

"And what have I done?" questioned Aziraphale.

"What? What? ...You've stolen them." With that, Anael fled, but Aziraphale  
understood; he knew who "them" was.  
The boys. The alpha's. The village boys.  
The beef-witted featherbrained rattleskulled clodpated dim-domed noodle-noggin sap headed lunk-knobbed boys.

How could anybody accuse him of stealing them? Why would anybody want them anyway? What good were they? All they did was pester and vex and annoy.

"May I brush your horse, Aziraphale?" one of the village boys would ask.

"Thank you, but the farm boy does that."

"May I go riding with you, Aziraphale?" another boy would ask.

"Thank you, but I really do enjoy myself alone." 

"You think you're too good for anybody, don't you, Aziraphale?" more young boys and girls would accuse of him.

"No, no I don't. I just prefer riding by myself, that's all." Aziraphale would say, even though it was a silent lie.

Throughout his sixteenth year, this kind of talk gave way to stammering, flushing, and at the very best- questions about the weather.

"Do you think it's going to rain, Aziraphale?" 

"No, I don't think so. The sky is blue." Aziraphale said, looking up at the sky; as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, it might rain." they would say defensively.

"Yes, I suppose it might." Aziraphale said. Not paying much attention to their pointless conversation.

"You think you're too good for anybody, don't you, Aziraphale?" the villagers would constantly accuse.

"No, I just don't think it's going to rain, that's all." Aziraphale would say, even though it might be a lie.

At night, more often than not, they would congregate beyond his window and ridicule him. He ignored them. Usually the laughter would give way to insult. He paid them no mind. If they grew too damaging, the farm boy usually handled things. Emerging silently from his hovel, thrashing a few of them, sending them flying. He never failed to thank him when he did this.

"As you wish"

Was all he ever answered.


	2. Everything is after taxes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we meet some new people. Aziraphale is discovered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're getting somewhere, if it wasn't clear Crowley is the farm boy. The king and queen are no bodies, Sandalphon is count rugan, Gabriel is prince Humperdinck, and the countess is a nobody, you'll see. 
> 
> Hopefully you like this, I'm taking a lot of this from the book btw trying to make it as close as possible ig

When Aziraphale was almost seventeen, a man in a carriage came to town and watched as he rode for provisions. He was still there on his return, peering out. He paid him no mind and, indeed, by himself he was not important. But he marked a turning point. Other alphas had gone out of their way to catch sight of him; other men had even ridden twenty miles for the privilege, as this man had. 

The importance here is that this was the first rich man who had bothered to do so, the first noble. And it was this man, whose name is lost to antiquity, who mentioned Aziraphale to the Count.

The land of Eden was set between where Sweden and Germany would eventually settle.

In theory, it was ruled by King Lotharale and his second wife, the Queen. But in fact, the King was barely hanging on, could only rarely tell day from night, and basically spent his time in muttering.

He was old, every organ in his body had long since betrayed him, and most of his important decisions regarding Eden had a certain arbitrary quality that bothered many of the leading citizens.

Prince Gabriel actually ran things. If there had been a Europe, he would have been the most powerful man in it. Even as it was, nobody within a thousand miles wanted to mess with him.

The Count was Prince Gabriel's only confidant. His name was Sandalphon, but no one needed to use it—he was the only Count in the country, the title having been bestowed by the Prince as a birthday present some years before. The happening taking place naturally, at one of the Countess's parties.

The Countess was considerably younger than her husband. All of her clothes came from Paris, she had superb taste. 

Eventually, her passion for fabric and face paint caused her to settle permanently in Paris. Where she ran the only salon of international consequence.

Now, she busied herself with simply sleeping on silk, eating on gold and being the single most feared and admired woman in Eden's history. If she had figure faults, her clothes concealed them. If her face was less than divine, it was hard to tell once she got done applying substances. 

In sum, they were a Couple of the Week in Eden, and had been for many years. . . .

"Quick—quick—come—" Aziraphale's father stood in his farmhouse, staring out the window.

"Why?" asked his mother. She gave away nothing when it came to obedience.

"Look—" father made a quick finger point.

"You look. You know how." she said sarcastically.

Aziraphale's parents did not have exactly what you might call a happy marriage. All they ever dreamed of was leaving each other. They were a pair of beta’s, only lucky to have an Omega son to carry on their line. It was one reason their family was so favored. 

"Ahhhh," he said after a while. Aziraphale's father shrugged and went back to the window. 

And a little later, again, "Ahhhh." 

"Such riches," Aziraphale's mother glanced up briefly from her cooking.

"Glorious." The omega's father said. 

"The heart swells at the magnificence," Aziraphale's mother hesitated, then put her stew spoon down. "What exactly is it, dumpling?" Aziraphale's mother wanted to know.

"You look. You know how." was all he replied.

"Donkey," mother said, and came over to the window. A moment later she said, "Ahhh."

They stood there, the two of them, tiny and awed. From setting the dinner table, Aziraphale watched them.

"They must be going to meet Prince Gabriel someplace," Aziraphale's mother said. Then father nodded. 

"Hunting. That's what the Prince does."

"How lucky we are to have seen them pass by," Aziraphale's mother said, and she took  
her husband's hand. The old man nodded. 

"Now I can die." She glanced at him.

"Don't." 

Her tone was surprisingly tender, and probably she sensed how important he was to her, because when he did die, two years further on, she went right after, and most of the people who knew her well agreed it was the sudden lack of opposition that undid her.

Aziraphale came close and stood behind them, stared over them, and soon he was gasping too, because the Count and Countess and all their pages, soldiers, servants, courtiers, champions, and carriages were passing by the cart track at the front of the farm.

The three stood in silence as the procession moved forward. Aziraphale's father was a tiny mutt of a man who had always dreamed of living like the Count. He had once been two miles from where the Count and Prince had been hunting, and until this moment that had been the high point of his life. He was a terrible farmer, and not much of a husband either. There wasn't really much in this world he excelled at, and he could never quite figure out how he happened to sire his son. Though he knew, deep down, that it must have been some kind of wonderful mistake. The nature of which he had no intention of investigating.

Aziraphale’s mother was a gnarled shrimp of a woman, thorny and worrying. Who had always dreamed of somehow just once being popular, like the Countess was said to be. She was a terrible cook, an even more limited housekeeper. How Aziraphale slid from her womb was, of course, beyond her. But she had been there when it happened; that was enough for her.

The procession soon turned and began entering the farm.

"Here?" Aziraphale's father managed. 

"My God, why?" Aziraphale's mother whirled on him. "Did you forget to pay your taxes?" 

"Even if I did, they wouldn't need all that to collect them," He gestured toward the front of his farm, where now the Count and Countess and all their pages and soldiers and servants and courtiers and champions and carriages were coming closer and closer.

"What could they want to ask me about?" he said.

"Go see, go see," Aziraphale's mother told him.

"You go. Please."

"No. You. Please."

"We'll both go."

So they both went. Trembling . . .

"Cows," the Count said, when they reached his golden carriage. "I would like to talk about your cows." he spoke from inside, his dark face darkened by shadows.

"My.. Cows?" Aziraphale's father said.

"Yes. You see, I'm thinking of starting a little dairy of my own, and since your cows are known throughout the land as being Florin's finest, I thought I might pry your secrets from you."

"My cows," Aziraphale's father managed to repeat, hoping he was not going mad.

The truth is, and he knew it well, he had terrible cows. For years, nothing but complaints from the people in the village. If anyone else had milk to sell, he would have been out of business in a minute. Now granted, things had improved since the farm boy had come to slave for him—no question. The farm boy had certain skills, and the complaints were quite nonexistent now—but that didn't make his cows the finest in Eden. 

Still, you didn't argue with the Count. Aziraphale's father turned to his wife.

"What would you say my secret is, my dear?" he asked.

"Oh, there are so many," she said—she was no idiot, not when it came to the quality of their livestock.

"You two are childless, are you?" the Count asked then.

"No, sir," mother answered.

"Then let me see him," the Count went on— "Perhaps he will be quicker with his answers than his parents."

"Aziraphale," his father called, turning. "Come out please."

"How did you know we had a son?" 

"A guess. I assumed it had to be one or the other. Some days I'm luckier than—" he simply stopped talking then. As Aziraphale moved into view, hurrying from the house to his parents.

The Count left the carriage. Gracefully, he moved to the ground and stood very still. He was a big man, thinning light hair and black eyes and great shoulders and a black cape and gloves.

"Curtsy, dear," Aziraphale's mother whispered.  
Aziraphale did his best. And the Count could not stop looking at him. Understand now, he was barely rated in the top twenty; his hair was uncombed, unclean; his age was just seventeen, so there was still, in occasional places, the remains of baby fat. Nothing had been done to the child. Nothing was really there but potential. But the Count still could not rip his eyes away.

"The Count would like to know the secrets behind our cows' greatness, is that not correct, sir?" Aziraphale's father said. The Count only nodded, staring. Even Aziraphale's mother noted a certain tension in the air.

"Ask the farm boy; he tends them." 

"And is that the farm boy?" came a new voice from inside the carriage. Then the Countess's face was framed in the carriage doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it please let me know kudos subscribe etc!


	3. Cynics are simply thwarted romantics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something fishy is going on with the nobility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here Aziraphale starts to realize

Her lips were painted a perfect red; her green eyes lined in black. All the colors of the world were muted in her gown. Aziraphale wanted to shield his eyes from the brilliance.  
Aziraphale's father glanced back toward the lone figure peering around the corner of the house.

"It is."

"Bring him to me."

"He is not dressed properly for such an occasion," Aziraphale's mother said, shifting nervously.

"I have seen bare chests before," the Countess replied. 

Then she called out, "You!" and pointed at the farm boy.

"Come here." her fingers snapped on ‘here.’ The farm boy did as he was told. And when he was close, the Countess left the carriage. When he was a few paces behind Aziraphale the alpha stopped, head properly bowed. He was ashamed of his attire, worn boots and torn black jeans, and his hands were tight together in almost a gesture of supplication.

"Have you a name, farm boy?"

"Crowley, Countess."

"Well, Crowley, perhaps you can help us with our problem." she crossed to him. The fabric of her gown grazed his skin.

"We are all of us here passionately interested in the subject of cows. We are practically reaching the point of frenzy, such is our curiosity. Why, do you suppose, Crowley, that the cows of this particular farm are the finest in all Eden. What do you do to them?"

"I just feed them, Countess."

"Well then, there it is, the mystery is solved, the secret out; we can all rest. Clearly, the magic is in Crowley's feeding. Show me how you do it, would you, Crowley?"

"Feed the cows for you, Countess?"

"Bright lad."

"When?"

"Now will be soon enough," she held out her arm to him. "Lead me, Crowley." Crowley had no choice but to take her arm. Gently. 

"It's behind the house, madam; it's terribly muddy back there. Your gown will be ruined."

"I wear them only once, Crowley, and I burn to see you in action."

So off they went to the cowshed. Throughout all this, the Count kept watching Aziraphale.

"I'll help you," 

Aziraphale called after Crowley, always one to help the animals. The gaze of the Count was making his skin crawl.

"Perhaps I'd best see just how he does it," the Count decided.

"Strange things are happening," Aziraphale's parents said, and off they went too, bringing up the rear of the cow-feeding trip, watching the Count, who was watching their son, who was watching the Countess. Who was watching Crowley.

"I couldn't see what he did that was so special," Aziraphale's father said. "He just fed them."

This was after dinner now, when the family was alone again.

"They must like him personally. I had a cat once that only bloomed when I fed him. Maybe it's the same kind of thing." Aziraphale's mother scraped the stew leavings into a bowl.

"Here," she said to her son. 

"Crowley's waiting by the back door; take him his dinner."

Aziraphale carried the bowl, opened the back door.

"Take it," he said. The alpha nodded, accepted, started off to his tree stump to eat.

"I didn't excuse you, Farm Boy," Aziraphale began. He stopped, turned back to the shorter omega.

"I don't like what you're doing with Horse. What you're not doing with Horse is more to the point. I want him cleaned. Tonight. I want his hoofs varnished. Tonight. I want his tail plaited and his ears massaged. This very evening. I want his stables spotless. Now. I want him glistening, and if it takes you all night, it takes you all night."

"As you wish." Aziraphale slammed the door and let him eat in darkness.

"I thought Horse had been looking very well, actually," his father said. Aziraphale said nothing.

"You yourself said so yesterday," his mother reminded him. 

"I must be overtired," Aziraphale managed. "The excitement and all."

"Rest, then," his mother cautioned.

"Terrible things can happen when you're overtired. I was overtired the night your father proposed." 

Aziraphale went to his room. He lay on his bed and closed his eyes and the Countess was staring at Crowley. Aziraphale got up from bed. He took off his day clothes. He washed a little, got into his nightgown. He slipped between the sheets, snuggled down, closed his eyes.

The Countess was still staring at Crowley!

Aziraphale threw back the sheets, opened his door. He went to the sink by the stove and poured himself a cup of water. He drank it down. He poured another cup and rolled its coolness across his forehead. The feverish feeling was still there. Heat?

How feverish? He felt fine. He was seventeen, and not even a cavity, it was too early for a heat. He dumped the water firmly into the sink, turned, marched back to his room, shut the door tightly, went back to bed. He closed his eyes.

The Countess would not stop staring at Crowley!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the second chapter in the first work of the series


	4. The enemy is always in the mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little jealous baby realizes something and gets brave....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens

Why? Why in the world would the woman in all the history of Eden who was in all ways perfect be interested in the farm boy?

Aziraphale rolled around in bed. And there simply was no other way of explaining that look—she was interested. Aziraphale shut his eyes tight and studied the memory of the Countess. Clearly, something about the farm boy interested her.

Facts were facts. But what? The farm boy had eyes like glistening gold, but who cared about eyes? And he had deep Ruby hair, if you like that sort of thing. And he was broad enough in the shoulders, but not all that much broader than the Count.

Certainly, he was muscular, but anybody would be muscular who slaved all day. And his skin was perfect and tan, but that came again from slaving in the sun all day, who wouldn't be tan? 

He wasn't that much taller than the Count either, although his stomach was flatter, but that was because the farm boy was younger.

Aziraphale sat up in bed. It must be his teeth. The farm boy did have good teeth, give credit where credit was due. White and perfect, particularly set against the sun-tanned face. Could it have been anything else? 

Aziraphale concentrated. The omegas in the village followed the farm boy around a lot, whenever he was making deliveries, but they were idiots, they followed anything. He always ignored them anyway. If he'd ever opened his mouth, they would have realized that was all he had, just good teeth. He was, after all, exceptionally stupid.

It was really very strange that a woman as beautiful and slender and willowy and graceful. A creature as perfectly packaged, as supremely dressed as the Countess should be hung up on teeth that way. Aziraphale shrugged. People were surprisingly complicated.

But now he had it all diagnosed, deduced, clear. he closed his eyes and snuggled down and got all nice and comfortable, and people don't look at other people the way the Countess looked at the farm boy because of their teeth.

"Oh," Aziraphale gasped. "Oh, oh dear."

Now the farm boy was staring back at the Countess. He was feeding the cows and his muscles were rippling the way they always did under his tanned skin and Aziraphale was  
standing there. Watching as the farm boy looked, for the first time, deep into the Countess's eyes.

Aziraphale jumped out of bed and began to pace his room. How could he? Oh, it was all right if he looked at her, but he wasn't looking at her, he was looking at her.

"She's so old," Aziraphale muttered, starting to storm a bit now. The Countess would never see thirty again and that was a fact. And her dress looked ridiculous out in the cowshed and that was a fact too.

Aziraphale fell onto his bed and clutched his pillow across his chest. The dress was ridiculous before it ever got to the cowshed. The Countess looked rotten the minute she left the carriage, with her too big painted mouth and her little piggy painted eyes and her powdered skin and . . . and . . . and . . .

Flailing and thrashing, Aziraphale wept and tossed and paced and wept some more, and there have been three great cases of jealousy since David of Galilee was first afflicted with emotion when he could no longer stand the fact that his neighbor Saul's cactus outshone his own. 

Aziraphale's case rated a close fourth on the all-time list. It was a very long and very green night.

He was outside Crowley’s hovel before dawn. Inside, Aziraphale could hear Farm Boy already awake. The omega knocked. Farm boy appeared, stood in the doorway. Behind him Aziraphale could see a tiny candle, open books. He waited, looked at him. Then he looked away.

Crowley was too beautiful.

"I think I love you," Aziraphale said.

"I know this must come as something of a surprise, since all I've ever done is scorn you and degrade you and taunt you, but I have loved you for several hours now, and every second, more. I thought an hour ago that I love you more than any omega has ever loved an alpha, but a half hour after that I knew that what I felt before was nothing compared to what I felt then. But ten minutes after that, I understood that my previous love was a puddle compared to the high seas before a storm. How many minutes ago was it? Twenty? Had I brought my feelings up to then? It doesn't matter."

Aziraphale still could not look at him. The sun was rising behind him now; he could feel the heat on his back, and it gave him courage.

"I love you so much more now than twenty minutes ago that there cannot be comparison. I love you so much more now than when you opened your hovel door, there cannot be comparison. There is no room in my body for anything but you. My arms love you, my ears adore you, my knees shake with blind affection. My mind begs you to ask it something so it can obey. Do you want me to follow you for the rest of your days? I'll be your Omega, follow your will and every whim, give my heats to you,” he rambled on. “I will do that. Do you want me to crawl? I will crawl. I will be quiet for you or sing for you, or if you are hungry, let me bring you food, or if you have a thirst and nothing will quench it but Arabian wine, I will go to Araby, even though it is across the world, and bring a bottle back for your lunch. Anything there is that I can do for you, I will do for you; anything there is that I cannot do, I will learn to do. I know I cannot compete with the Countess in skills or wisdom or appeal, and I saw the way she looked at you. And I saw the way you looked at her. But remember, please, that she is old and has other interests, while I am seventeen and for me there is only you. Dearest Crowley—I've never called you that before, have I?—Crowley, Crowley, Crowley, Crowley, Crowley—darling Crowley, adored Crowley, sweet perfect Crowley, whisper that I have a chance to win your love." Aziraphale pleaded.

And with that, he dared the bravest thing he'd ever done: he looked right into his eyes.

He closed the door in Aziraphale's face.

Without a word.

Without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Aziraphale, wtf Crowley


	5. Life is not fair, it never has been and it never will be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are worked out and it gets sad

Aziraphale ran. He whirled and burst away and the tears came bitterly; he could not  
see, he stumbled, he slammed into a tree trunk, fell, rose, ran on; his shoulder throbbed  
from where the tree trunk hit him, and the pain was strong, but not enough to ease his  
shattered heart. 

Back to his room he fled, back to his pillow. Safe behind the locked door, he drenched the world with tears. Not even one word. He hadn't had the decency for that. 

Sorry, he could have said. Would it have ruined him to say ‘sorry’?

"Too late," he could have said. Why couldn't he at least have said something? Aziraphale thought very hard about that for a moment. And suddenly he had the answer:

Aziraphale dried his tears and began to smile, he took a deep breath, heaved a sigh. It  
was all part of growing up. You got these little quick passions, you blinked, and they were gone. 

You forgave faults, found perfection, fell madly; then the next day the sun came up and it was over. Chalk it up to experience, old boy, and get on with the morning. 

Aziraphale stood, made his bed, changed his clothes, combed his hair, smiled, and burst out again in a fit of weeping. 

Because there was a limit to just how much you could lie to yourself.

Crowley wasn't stupid. Oh, he could pretend he was. he could laugh about his difficulties with the language. He could chide himself for his silly infatuation with a dullard. The truth was simply this: he had a head on his shoulders. With a brain inside every bit as good as his teeth. There was a reason he hadn't spoken and it had nothing to do with gray cells working. He hadn't spoken because, really, there was nothing for him to say.

He didn't love the omega back and that was that.

The tears that kept Aziraphale company the remainder of the day were not at all like those that had blinded him into the tree trunk. 

Those were noisy and hot; they pulsed. These were silent and steady and all they did was remind him that he wasn't good enough. 

He was seventeen, and every alpha he'd ever known had crumbled at his feet and it meant nothing. 

The one time it mattered, he wasn't good enough.

All he knew really was riding and food, and how was that to interest a man when that man had been looked at by the Countess?

It was dusk when he heard footsteps outside his door. Then a knock. Aziraphale dried his eyes. Another knock.

"Whoever is that?" Aziraphale yawned finally.

"Crowley."

Aziraphale lounged across the bed. "Crowley?" he said.

"Do I know any Crow—oh, Farm Boy, it's you, how droll!" He went to his door, unlocked it.

And in his fanciest tone, "I'm ever so glad you stopped by, I've been feeling just ever so slummy about the little joke I played on you this morning. Of course you knew I wasn't for a moment serious, or at least I thought you knew, but then, just when you started closing the door I thought for one dreary instant that perhaps I'd done my little jest a bit too convincingly and, poor dear thing, you might have thought I meant what I said when of course we both know the total impossibility of that ever happening."

"I've come to say good-bye."

Aziraphale's heart buckled, but he still held to fancy. "You're going to sleep, you mean, and you've come to say good night? How thoughtful of you, Crowley, showing me that you forgive me for my little morning's tease. I certainly appreciate your thoughtfulness and—"

He cut him off. "I'm leaving."

"Leaving?" The floor began to ripple. He held to the doorframe.

"Now?"

"Yes."

"Because of what I said this morning?"

"Yes."

"I frightened you away, didn't I? I could kill my tongue." Aziraphale shook his head and shook his head. 

"Well, it's done; you've made your decision. Just remember this: I won't take you back when she's done with you, I don't care if you beg."

He just looked at him. Aziraphale hurried on. 

"Just because you're beautiful and perfect, it's made you conceited. You think people can't get tired of you, well you're wrong, they can, and she will, besides you're too poor."

"I'm going to America. To seek my fortune. A ship sails soon from London. There is great opportunity in America. I'm going to take advantage of it. I've been training myself. In my hovel. I've taught myself not to need sleep. A few hours only. I'll take a ten-hour-a-day job and then I'll take another ten-hour-a-day job and I'll save every penny from both except what I need to eat to keep strong, and when I have enough I'll buy a farm and build a house and make a bed big enough for two.'

"You're just crazy if you think she's going to be happy in some run-down farmhouse in America. Not with what she spends on clothes."

"Stop talking about the Countess! As a special favor. Before you drive me mad." Aziraphale looked at him.

"Don't you understand anything that's going on?"

Aziraphale shook his head. Crowley shook his too. 

"You never have been the brightest, I guess."

"Do you love me, Crowley? Is that it?" Crowley couldn't believe it. 

"Do I love you? My Someone, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches. If your love were—"

"I don't understand that first one yet," Aziraphale interrupted. He was starting to get very excited now.

"Let me get this straight. Are you saying my love is the size of a grain of sand and yours is this other thing? Images just confuse me so—is this universal business of yours bigger than my sand? Help me, Crowley. I have a feeling we're on the verge of something just terribly important."

"I have spent these years in my hovel because of you. I taught myself languages because of you. I made my body strong because I thought you might be pleased by a strong body. I lived my life with only the prayer that some sudden dawn you might glance in my direction. I’ve not known a moment in years when the sight of you did not send my heart careening against my rib cage. I have not known a night when your visage did not accompany me to sleep. There has not been a morning when you did not flutter behind my waking eyelids.. Is any of this getting through to you, Aziraphale, or do you want me to go on for a while?"

"Never stop."

"There has not been—"

"If you're teasing me, Crowley, I'm just going to kill you."

"How can you even dream I might be teasing?"

"Well, you haven't once said you loved me."

"That's all you need? Easy. I love you. Okay? Want it louder? I love you. Spell it out, should I? I ell-oh-vee-ee why-oh-you. Want it backward? You love I."

"You are teasing now; aren't you?"

"A little maybe; I've been saying it so long to you, you just wouldn't listen. Every time you said 'Farm Boy, do this' you thought I was answering 'As you wish' but that's only because you were hearing wrong. 'I love you' was what it was, but you never heard."

"I hear you now, and I promise you this: I will never love anyone else. Only Crowley. Until I die." He nodded, took a step away.

"I'll send for you soon. Believe me."

"Would my Crowley ever lie?"

He took another step. "I'm late. I must go. I hate it, but I must. The ship sails soon and London is far."

"I understand."

He reached out with his right hand. Aziraphale found it very hard to breathe.

"Good-bye." He managed to raise his right hand to his. They shook.

"Good-bye," Aziraphale said again.

Crowley made a little nod. He took a third step, not turning. As Aziraphale watched him. Crowley turned.

The words ripped out of the omega. "Without one kiss?"

They fell into each other's arms.There have been five great kisses since 1642 B.C. when Saul and Delilah Korn's inadvertent discovery swept across Western civilization. The precise rating of kisses is a terribly difficult thing, often leading to great controversy, there are five that everyone agrees deserve full marks.

Well, this one left them all behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayyy happy ending. Kind of... Second to last chapter of part one then I'll write smut


	6. Life is pain, anyone who says differently is trying to sell you something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for some whump.

The first morning after Crowley's departure, Aziraphale thought he was entitled to do nothing more than sit around moping and feeling sorry for himself. 

After all, the love of his life had fled. Life had no meaning, how could you face the future, et cetera, et cetera.

After about two seconds of that he realized that Crowley was out in the world now, getting nearer and nearer to London, and what if a beautiful city Omega caught his fancy while he was just back here moldering? 

Or, worse, what if he got to America and worked his jobs and built his farm and made their bed and sent for him and when he got there he would look at him and say, "I'm sending you back, the moping has destroyed your eyes, the self-pity has taken your skin; you're a sloppy-looking creature, I'm marrying an Omega who lives down the road who is always top notch."

Aziraphale ran to his bedroom mirror. "Oh, Crowley, I must never disappoint you," 

He hurried downstairs to where his parents were squabbling. 

"I need your advice," he interrupted. 

"What can I do to improve my personal appearance?"

"Start by bathing," his father said.

"Do something with your hair while you're at it," his mother said.

"Unearth the territory behind your ears."

"Neglect not your knees."

"That will do nicely for starters," 

"Gracious, but it isn't easy being tidy." Aziraphale said. He shook his head.

Undaunted, he set to work. Every morning he awoke, if possible by dawn, and got the farm chores finished immediately. There was much to be done now, with Crowley gone. More than that, ever since the Count had visited, everyone in the area had increased his milk order. So there was no time for self-improvement until well into the afternoon.

But then he really set to work. First a good cold bath. Then, while his hair was drying, he would slave after fixing his figure faults (one of his elbows was just too bony, the opposite wrist not bony enough). Exercise what remained of his fat, which left him still soft around the middle but an ass and thick thighs alpha's fainted over. He'd brush and brush his hair. His hair was the color of pale sand, and it had never been cut. So a thousand strokes took time, but he didn't mind. Crowley had never seen it clean like this, wouldn't he be surprised when he stepped off the boat in America? 

His skin was the color of wintry cream, and he scrubbed his every inch well past glistening, that wasn't much fun really. Wouldn't Crowley be pleased with how clean he was as he stepped off the boat in America?

Very quickly now, his potential began to be realized. From twentieth, he jumped within two weeks to fifteenth, an unheard-of change in such a time. Three weeks after that, he was already ninth and moving.

The competition was tremendous now, but the day after he was ninth a three-page letter arrived from Crowley in London and just reading it over put him up to eighth. That was really what was doing it for him more than anything— his love for Crowley would not stop growing, and people were dazzled when he delivered milk in the morning. 

Some people were only able to gape at him, but many talked and those that did found him warmer and gentler than he had ever been before. Even the village omegas would nod and smile now, and some of them would ask after Crowley, which was a mistake unless you happen to have a lot of spare time. When someone asked Aziraphale how Crowley was—well, he told them. 

He was supreme as usual, he was spectacular; he was singularly fabulous. Oh, he could go on for hours. 

Sometimes it got a little tough for the listeners to maintain strict attention, but they did their best, since Aziraphale loved him so completely.

Which was why Crowley's death hit him the way it did.

He had written to him just before he sailed for America. The Queen's Pride was his ship, and he loved him.

Then there were no letters, but that was natural; he was at sea. Then he heard. He came home from delivering the milk and his parents were wooden. 

"Off the Carolina coast," his father whispered. His mother whispered, "Without warning. At night."

"What?" from Aziraphale.

"Pirates," said his father. Aziraphale thought he'd better sit down. 

It was quiet in the room.

"He's been taken prisoner then?" Aziraphale managed. 

His mother said "no."

"It was Roberts," his father said. 

"The Dread Pirate Roberts."

"Oh," Aziraphale said. "The one who never leaves survivors."

"Yes," his father said.  
It was still quiet in the room.

Suddenly Aziraphale was talking very fast. "Was he stabbed? . . . Did he drown? . . . Did they cut his throat asleep? . . . Did they wake him, do you suppose? . . . Perhaps they  
whipped him dead. . . ."

He stood up then. "I'm getting silly, forgive me." he shook his head. 

"As if the way they got him mattered. Excuse me, please." 

With that he hurried to his room, he stayed there for many days. At first his parents tried to lure him, but he would not have it. They took to leaving food outside his room, and he took bits and shreds, enough to stay alive. A strange thing for him as Aziraphale's favorite thing next only to Crowley was food. 

There was never any noise inside, no wailing, no bitter sounds. And when he at last came out, his eyes were dry. 

His parents stared up from their silent breakfast at him. They both started to rise but he put a hand out, stopped them. 

"I can care for myself." and he set about getting some food. They watched him closely. In point of fact, he had never looked as well. He had entered his room as just an impossibly lovely omega. The man who emerged was a trifle thinner, a great deal wiser, an ocean sadder. 

This one understood the nature of pain, beneath the glory of his features, there was a character, and a sure knowledge of suffering. He was eighteen. He was the most beautiful omega in a hundred years. He didn't seem to care.

"Are you all right?" his mother asked.

Aziraphale sipped his cocoa. "Fine," he said.

"You're sure?" his father wondered.

"Yes," Aziraphale replied. There was a very long pause. 

"But I must never love again."

He never did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty that is the end of part 1  
I'll be posting smut that happens after chapter 5 pretty soon, stay tuned it won't be super long though


	7. The Groom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lets learn about Gabriel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm making this into one big fic  
TW for mentioned animal abuse, animal death, hunting,

Prince Gabriel was a mountain of a man, with a great muscular barrel chest, strong thighs to match. He was tall, and the textbook style alpha. He walked somewhat like a crab, side to side, if he wanted to be a ballet dancer, he would have been doomed to a miserable life of endless frustration. But thankfully, he wasn't interested in dancing. He wasn't in much of a hurry to be King either. Even war, at which he excelled, took second place in his affections.

Hunting was his love. He made it a practice never to let a day go by without killing something. It didn't much matter. When he first grew dedicated, he killed only big things: elephants or pythons. But as his skills increased he began to enjoy the suffering of little beasts too.

He could happily spend an afternoon tracking a flying squirrel across forests, or a rainbow trout down rivers. Once he was determined, once he had focused on an object. The Prince was relentless. He never tired, never wavered, neither ate not slept. It was death chess, and he was an international Grand Master.

In the beginning, he traveled the world for a decent opposition. But travel took too much time. Ships and horses being what they were; The time away from Eden was worrying. There always had to be an alpha heir to the throne. As long as his father was alive, there was no problem. But someday his father would die, and then the Prince would be the King, and he would have to select a queen to supply an heir for the day of his own death.

So to avoid this particular problem of absence. Prince Gabriel built the Zoo of Death. He designed it with Count Sandalphon's help, and he sent his hirelings across the world to stock it fully for him. It was kept brimming with things that he could hunt, and it wasn't like any other animal sanctuary anywhere. In the first place, there were never any visitors. Only the albinic keeper, to make sure the beasts were properly fed. And to wean off any sickness or weakness inside.

The other thing about the Zoo, was that it was underground. Gabriel picked the spot himself, in the quietest, remotest corner of the castle grounds. He decreed there were to be five levels, all with the proper needs for his enemies.

On the first level, he put enemies of speed: Wild dogs, cheetahs, hummingbirds.

The second level held enemies of strength: anacondas, rhinos, and crocodiles over 20 feet.

The third level was for poisoners: spitting cobras, jumping spiders, death bats galore.

The fourth was the kingdom of the most dangerous, the enemies of fear. The shrieking tarantula, the only spider capable of sounds. The blood eagle, the only bird that thrived on human flesh. Plus in its black pool was the sucking squid. Even the albino shivered during feeding time on the fourth level.

The fifth level was empty.

The Prince had constructed it in the hopes of someday finding something worthy, something as dangerous and fierce and powerful as he was.

Although unlikely. Still, he was an eternal optimist, so he kept the great cage of the fifth level, always in readiness.

And there was more than enough that was lethal on the other four levels to keep an alpha happy. The Prince would sometimes choose his prey by luck- he had a great wheel with a spinner. On the outside of the wheel was a picture of every animal in the Zoo.

He would twirl the spinner at breakfast, and wherever it stopped, the albino would ready that breed. Sometimes he would choose by mood:

"I feel quick today; fetch me a cheetah" or "I feel strong today; release a rhino." And whatever he requested, of course, was done.

He was ringing down the curtain on an orangutan when the business of the King's health made its ultimate intrusion. It was mid-afternoon, and the Prince had been grappling with the giant beast since morning. Count Sandalphon interrupted

"There is news," the Count said. "From battle"

the Prince replied. "Cannot it wait?"

"For how long?" asked the Count.

The orangutan fell like a rag doll. "Now, what is all this," the Prince replied, stepping  
past the dead beast, mounting the ladder out  
of the pit.

"Your father has had his annual physical," the Count said. "I have a report."

"And?"

"Your father is dying."

"Drat!" said the Prince. "That means I shall have to get married."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think about this part :).


	8. A note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a new chapter but a quick note

Hello everyone! I'm so sorry for the long wait, but don't worry a new chapter is in the works, things have been crazy for me but I haven't forgotten about this!! 

Love all of you so much thank you for reading and following! Just remember (a comment really fuels my writing) 

Love you thank you for being so patient! ♥️♥️♥️♥️


	9. Note part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Question for you all

Another non update

But a little poll for anyone who cares xD 

Would you guys prefer longer chapters with a longer wait time or shorter chapters at a more frequent update speed??


	10. you have a dizzying intellect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny chapter that I banged out this morning, more coming later :)

There were four of them in the castle’s great council room. Prince Gabriel, his confidant Count Sandalphon, his father aging King Lotharale and Queen Bella. Gabriel’s evil stepmother; The Queen was shaped like a sugared gumdrop, and colored like a raspberry. She was easily _the_ most beloved person in the kingdom, and a female alpha to boot. She had been married to the King long before he began mumbling. Prince Gabriel had been a child then, and since the only stepmothers he was familiar with were evil women from stories, he always called Bella that or “E.S” for short.

When they were all gathered Prince Gabriel began “All right, Who do I marry? Let’s pick a bride and get done.” 

The king cleared his throat “I’ve been thinking, it really is getting about time for Gabriel to pick a bride.” He didn’t say so much as mumble it: "I've beee mumbbble mumbbble Gampmummmble engamumble." Queen Bella was really the only one who bothered ferreting out his meanings anymore. “You couldn’t be righter dear.” she said as she patted his royal robes.

“What did he say?” Gabriel boredly asked.

“He said whoever we decided on would be getting a thunderously handsome prince for a lifetime companion,”

“Tell him he’s looking quite well himself.” Gabriel returned. 

“We’ve only just changed Miracle Men. That accounts for the improvement.” The Queen said.

“You mean you fired The Sergeant of Miracles?” Gabriel wondered. “I thought Shadwell was the only one left?”

“No, we found another up in the mountains and he is quite extraordinary. Old. But of course who wants a young miracle man?”

“Tell him I’ve changed Miracle Men.” The king spoke up, yet it came out more as “Tell mumble mirumble mumble,”

“What did he say?” Gabriel wondered.

“He said that a man of _your_ importance couldn’t marry just any princess.”

“True, true.” Prince Gabriel sighed deeply “I suppose that means Noreena.”

“That would certainly be a perfect match politically." Princess Noreena was from Sheol, the country just across from Eden channel. In any case, the two countries had stayed at war with each other for centuries. There had been the apple war, the fools gold discrepency which almost bankrupt both nations. The Roman Rift which did end up sending them both into penury, only to be followed by the discord of the Marlin, which they both got rich again, fleetingly banding together and robbing everyone within sailing distance.

“I wonder how she feels about hunting, though.” Said Gabriel. “I don’t much care about personality, just so that they can work around a knife.”

“I saw her several years ago.” The Queen mentioned. “She seemed lovely, though hardly muscular, more a knitter than a doer. But lovely again.”

“Skin?”

“Hmm, Marbleish.”

“Lips?’

“Number or color?” asked the queen seriously.

“Color E.S”

“Roseish, cheeks the same. Her eyes were largeish, one blue one green. Very fine for a beta.”

“Hmm…” Mused Gabriel “And form?”

“Hourglass-ish. Always clothed in the most divine, Of course famous throughout Sheol for the largest hat collection in the world.”

“Well, let’s bring her over here for some state occasion and have a look at her.” Spoke the prince. “Isn’t there a princess in Sheol that would be the right age?” said the King, though garbled it was: “Mum-cess Sheulble, abumble mumble?”

“Are you never wrong?” Said the Queen smiling into the weakening eyes of their ruler.

“What did he say?” Grunted Gabriel. 

“That I should leave this very day with an invitation.” replied the queen. 

And so began the great visit of Princess Noreena.

Once the Queen arrived in Sheol, it was a five day strait, before the Queen and Princess returned, allowing Gabriel to spend the day. She did in fact have marbleish skin, roseish cheeks and lips, largeish eyes one green, one blue, hourglassish form and easilt the most extraordinary collection of hats ever assembled. Wide brimmed and narrow, some tall and some short, fancy, plain, colorful, plaid. Noreena truly doted on changing them at every opportunity. When she met the prince she donned one hat, when Gabriel asked for a stroll, she excused herself and returned wearing a different yet equally flattering hat. Things remained like this throughout the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment if you're enjoying so far ♥️


	11. Get used to disappointment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one

When dusk rolled around, dinner was held in the great hall of Lotharale’s castle. Generally they would have dined in their ornate dining room, but this event was important and the room was too small. 

Tables were placed end to end along the center of the Great Hall, an enormously drafty spot that was chilly even in the summertime. Many doors and giant entry ways, the wind sometimes reached gale force.This night was much the same; the winds whistling constantly and candles constantly needing to be relit, some of the more _daringly_ dressed ladies even shivered.

But Prince Gabriel didn’t seem to mind, and in Eden if he didn’t mind, that meant no one else did either. At 8:23 every chance of a lasting alliance between Eden and Sheol was high. At 8:24 the nations were very close to war. Simply what had happened, at 8:23 and five seconds, the main course of the evening was ready to be served. The course of course being Brandied Pig. To serve 500 people there needed to be quite a lot. So in order to hasten the serving, a giant double door straight from the kitchen to the dining room was opened. The door being at the north end of the room, remaining open throughout the next events. The proper wine for Brandied Pig was ready behind the double door that led to the wine cellar. This door was opened at 8:23 and ten seconds, in order for the stewards to ready their kegs, quickly to the diners. This door was at the south end of the room.

At this point an unusually strong cross wind was evident. Prince Gabriel did not notice, due to the fact that he was currently cheek to cheek with Princess Noreena, under her wide-brimmed teal hat. At 8:23 and twenty seconds King Lotharale made his belated entrance to the dinner, he was always belated now, for years now people were known to starve before he got there. But as of late meals began to start without him. Not that he minded, since his new Miracle Man had taken him off of meals anyway. 

The king entered through his private door. A great hinged thing only he could use. The kings door was always at the east of a room; since the king himself was closest to the sun. It always took several servants in excellent condition to operate.

At 8:23 and 25 seconds, it was rather gusty in the Great Hall. Most candles had lost flame and toppled over, which was only important because a few fell still burning into the small kerosene cups placed here and there across the table to warm the served Brandied Pig. Servants rushed from all over to put out the flames. They did a good enough job, considering the status of the room, scarves, hats, fans flying all over.

Particularly the hat of one Princess Noreena. It flew off to the wall behind her. She was quick to retrieve it but not before the damage had been done.

That was at 8:23 and 55 seconds, Prince Gabriel rose roaring. The veins in his neck thick and etched like hemp. Flames were still going in certain places, their redness emphasizing his already red face.

He stood there like a barrel on fire. He turned to the beta, Princess Noreena of Sheol, the fice words that had brought nations to the brink time and time before. 

“Madam, feel free to flee!” And with that, he stormed from the Great Hall. At 8:24 he made his angry way to the balcony above to stare down at the chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Aziraphale will be present very very soon!!


	12. The commoner the better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I will never love you"

The fires were still burning in place, flaming almost as red as Gabriel’s face. Guests were pouring through doors, and Princess Noreena, now hatted but fainted; was being carried by her servants far from the view of the remaining diners. 

The Queen had finally caught up to Gabriel, who still stormed and paced along the balcony, clearly not in control. The Queen cleared her throat and turned to her stepson.

“I do wish you hadn’t been quite so blunt.”

Gabriel whirled on her, alpha rage blazing in his eyes. “I am not marrying any bald princess, and that is that!”

“No one would know…” The queen explained. “She has hats even for sleeping.”

“I would know.” Cried the Prince. “Did you see the way the candlelight reflected off of her skull?”

“But things would have been so good with Sheol.” The queen pressed. She half addressed herself to Count Sandalphon, who had just made his presence known.

“Forget about Sheol. I’ll conquer it sometime. I’ve wanted to ever since I was a pup anyway.” Gabriel approached the Queen once more. “People laugh behind your back when they know you have a bald wife. I can do without that, thank you. You’ll just have to find someone else.”

“Who?” Huffed the Queen.

“Find me _somebody_, they should just look nice, that’s all.”

“That Noreena has no hair.” King Lotharale piped in from the edge of the room, puffing up to the others. “Nor-umble mumble hurrumble.” 

“Thank you for pointing that out dear.” Said the Queen.

“I don’t think Gabriel will like that.” said the King. “Dumble Humble Mumble.”

Count Sandalphon stepped forward at that. “You want someone who looks nice; but what if they are a commoner?”

“The commoner the better.” Gabriel responded, pacing again.

“What if she can’t hunt?” the count continued.

“I don’t much care if she could _spell_” The Prince suddenly stopped and faced the lot of them “I’ll tell you what I want.” he began. “I want someone who is just so beautiful that when you see them, you say ‘Wow, that Gabriel must be some kind of alpha to have a bride like that.’ Search the Country, search the _World_, just find them!” 

Sandalphon could only smile at that “Then he is already found.” Gabriel’s ears perked at that as he turned to the Count fully. 

\-------------------

It was as dawn broke when the two horsemen reigned in at the hilltop. Count Sandalphon mounted a great black horse, large, splendid and powerful. Gabriel sat astride one of his whites. As the sun crested the horizon it made Sandalphon’s ride look like a plow-puller.

“He delivers milk in the mornings.” Count Sandalphon said.

“And He is _Truly-with-no-question-no-possibility-of-error beautiful?”_

“He was something of a mess when I saw him.” The Count admitted “But the potential was overwhelming.” 

“A milkmaid.” Gabriel rolled the words across his rough tongue. “I don’t know if I could wed one of them even under the best of conditions. People may snicker that they were the best I could do.” 

“True.” The Count mused “If you prefer, we can ride back to Eden City without waiting.” 

“We’ve come this far. We might as well wai-” His voice simply died in his throat. “I’ll take him.” He managed. Finally as Aziraphale rode slowly below them. 

“No one will snicker I think.” The Count smirked. 

“I must court him now.” Said the Prince. “Leave us alone for a minute.” He rode the white steed expertly down the hill. Aziraphale had never seen such a giant beast. Or such a rider at that. “I am your Prince and you will marry me.” Gabriel said. 

Aziraphale whispered as he met the alpha’s gaze. “I am your servant and I refuse.” 

“I am your Prince and you cannot refuse.” 

"I am your loyal servant and I just did." 

"Refusal means death." 

"Kill me then." 

"I am your Prince and I'm not that bad—how could you rather be dead than married to me?" 

"Because," Aziraphale spoke with a sad lilt. “Marriage is to love… and that is not a pastime I excel in. I tried once… and it went badly. I am sworn never to love another.” 

“Love?” Gabriel scoffed. “Who mentioned love? Not me, I can tell you. Look: there must always be a male or alpha heir to the throne of Eden. That is me. Once my father dies, there will not be an heir, just a king. That is me again. When that happens, I will marry and father children until there is a son.” He explained eyes flashing with the thought of breeding the beautiful omega before him. “So you can either marry me and be the richest, most powerful omega within a thousand miles, and give turkeys away at Christmas and provide me a son. _Or_ you can die in terrible pain in the _very_ near future. Make up your own mind.” 

“I’ll never love you.” 

“I wouldn’t want it if I had it.” 

Aziraphale let out a sigh. “Then by all means let us marry.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you enjoyed please! They fuel my writing lol


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